Games Frat Boys Play by Todd Gregory Read Free Book Online Page A

between his front two teeth. His own name tag read BRANDON BENSON , RUSH COMMITTEE . He looked up at me and gave me a strained smile. “Hi.” He slid a stapled form and a pen toward me. “Your name?”
    â€œJordy Valentine,” I replied. He started making out a name tag for me.
    â€œYou need to fill out the application,” he said without looking up. He was having trouble fitting VALENTINE on the tag, having to squish TINE onto the end. He handed me the name tag as I filled out the form. It was relatively simple, actually, but I hesitated when I got to the part about my parents’ annual income. I didn’t have a problem with writing 4.0 as my high school grade average (which was what my grades at St. Bernard translated to), and I didn’t have a problem with listing my address at the Alhambra, but my parents’ annual income? I laughed to myself. Truth be told, I actually didn’t know what their annual income was. I hesitated, and said, “Um, Brandon?”
    He looked up.
    â€œI don’t know what my parents’ annual income is.”
    He rolled his eyes. “Then estimate. It’s not rocket science.” He gave me a strange look.
    â€œOkay,” I replied, scratching my head. Okay, be conservative. If Dad and Mom have assets of about seven hundred million and earn a basic 6% interest per quarter, that would be forty-two million per quarter, which would be about a hundred twenty-five million per year. Pleased with myself, I wrote that amount in the blank and was about to continue filling out the form—the next section was Hobbies and Interests— but paused as I noticed someone else walking up to the back side of the table. I glanced up at him and did a double take.
    Gorgeous was probably not a strong-enough word. There had been a lot of good-looking boys at St. Bernard, I’d done my share of looking at men on Internet porn sites, and both Jeff and Blair were handsome enough to be underwear models. But this guy was in a completely different class than anyone I’d seen before. He was tall, a few inches over six feet, and he had thick blond hair parted in the center and hanging down almost to his chin on either side. Like Brandon, he was wearing a tight red polo shirt that hugged a strong chest and biceps. His bare arms were lined with veins under his darkly tanned skin. His eyes were wide and blue, his hair bleached white blond by the sun. His shoulders were broad and his waist narrow, his stomach completely flat. He didn’t look like he had an ounce of fat anywhere on his body. His teeth were strong and white, and he had deep dimples in both cheeks. He didn’t acknowledge me at all—all of his attention was on Brandon. His name tag read CHAD YORK , RUSH CHAIRMAN .
    â€œWhat a bunch of losers we’re getting,” he said, slipping into the chair next to Brandon. “I’m starting to think we might be better off not bidding anyone this semester, the way this is going.”
    â€œTell me about it,” Brandon muttered as I slid the application back to him.
    Chad chose that moment to notice me. He looked me over from head to toe in a slow-moving glance that made me shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. One of his dark blond eyebrows went up, and the corner of his mouth also went up. He stood up and stuck his hand out at me. “Chad York, Rush chairman. Welcome to Beta Kappa.” It sounded canned and insincere.
    â€œJordy Valentine.” I shook his hand and gave him a smile.
    â€œYou have spinach in your teeth.” His smile didn’t falter, but his eyes widened.
    Mortified, I closed my mouth.
    â€œThe bathroom’s just down the hall.” He gestured over his shoulder. “You probably want to do something about that.” He turned back to Brandon, made a face, and they both laughed.
    I wished a hole would open in the ground and swallow me whole.
    â€œSeriously, go do something about